#probably did some self flogging sessions too

[salem-sapiens]

Who gave him a phone?

Ref under the cut

I am obsessed with this pic btw

[pastelbatfandoms]

A-Z Naughty Headcanon-Peter Hale

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) If he’s not committed then it’s probably just a one night stand. If he is Committed,especially in a Bond/Mated sense,and you require aftercare he’ll give it to you. Probably in the form of Cuddles,seeing if your okay,after a particularly rough session,and washing your hair in the bath.  B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Peter knows he looks good with his shirt off lets be real. Why do you think he wears such deep V necks. ;P On you he likes your Butt also,if your a were,he loves how Beautiful and feral you look during The Full Moon. C = Cum (Where they like to)  He’s a Wolf so he has a hard time not just cumming inside,especially if he’s with a non Were,but if he can’t the next best thing would be your Mouth. Unless you’re on The Pill or trying to get Pregnant then all bets are off! D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Peter secretly likes being Dominated,or their partner being more aggressive then usual,even letting himself be seduced. He’s also slightly into Blood Play,left over from his more Psychotic Days.  E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) Peter’s been around for a very long time. He’s pretty much experienced it all. So yes he definitely knows what he’s doing and how to satisfy you.  F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual) Can’t include a NSFW Visual because Tumblr is ruled by Prudes. But his Favorite would of course be Doggy or any Position that he can Dominate you in. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) Peter can make a witty remark every now and then but if he’s in Alpha mode or having Angry,Jealous Sex then no you’re going to get Dominant Peter weather you like it or not.  H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) Peter’s pretty clean shaven.  I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) Depends on his Mood,or who he’s with. With My OC he can either be Domineering or Romantic. Being her Alpha it’s usually the first. Though if hes being Soft it’s because Peter either did something wrong,he’s trying to win you over or it’s emotional.  J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)  As a Teenager he did it as much as any other Teen boy. As an adult well not much is known before the fire but afterwards he had other things on his mind besides Sex,until he met My OC. even now he doesn’t do it much unless it’s Mutual.  K = Kink (Do they have any) Where do we start? Peter’s been around for awhile,so he’s done and seen some things... Personally he has a Daddy Kink and a Master/Dom Kink Obviously. He also likes being tied up,Chains,Blindfolds. Peter’s very into Sensual desire as well as Animalistic and,when he doesn’t go full Wolf with his Were Witch,The Teeth and Claws do come out. He’s also into Choking and Spanking.  L = Location (Favorite places to do it) The Woods at night,usually in Were form. Otherwise his Apartment on whatever surface they can find. usually up against a Wall,over The Couch or on the Counter.  M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) Fighting,he loves Angry Sex,The Chase (both literally and figuratively) Sparring with My OC or after a Battle. Being Seduced works too.  N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) No Fire! Or any Feces stuff. Peter’s also not one to share.   O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving)  Peter prefers giving,he loves being in control that way,and trust me he always is. When it comes to receiving Peter likes being surprised like when he’s sleeping or trying to read. He’s surprisingly gentle,unless you want him to be rougher,then there’s quite a bit of hair pulling involved.  P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) Depends on his mood or his Partners. He can switch it up during.  Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) Not many. He likes being in you as long as possible and claiming you,he can’t do that if it’s quick. but he loves teasing you in public. weather it’s with his hands or just his looks.  R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) Only in Wolf Form.  S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) Question is how long can YOU last?? T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) If they’re human he will. But he prefers using what he has himself,like his Claws,Though he’s not averse to using a Flog or Paddle if you’ve been really bad.  U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Peter’s middle name is Tease. He LOVES it,especially if he wants you for himself and is trying to seduce you. Usually results in you jumping him or just leaving frustrated.  V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) He’s not too loud,he only Howls in Wolf Form,but he does Growl when he’s feeling Dominant or in Alpha Mode.  W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) Peter loves when his Girl impulsively climbs onto him and makes out with him,when alone,especially when she’s in heat.  X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) He’s pretty thick and long. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) I think that’s pretty self explanatory but he is a Wolf and an Alpha so yeah once he found his Mate,their Sex Drive became pretty high.  Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Peter doesn’t sleep too much,he’s usually out roaming,and killing,during the night. But if he’s feeling pretty protective and Daddy like with his Mate that night,he’ll cuddle her and watch over her while she sleeps. Usually Humming her a song. 

[sugar-petals]

Sub!Namjoon A-Z 

note: posts for other members linked in m.list!

⚠️ warnings: dom/sub dynamics, smut, bdsm

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

In the mood to talk a lot. Might appreciate a high five. I’m not even kidding.

b = body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Confident about his legs. Always uses a metric ton of lotion to make them extra soft for you to fondle. Might go through a few bottles a month because wow, his legs have a lot of well um leggy leg to be slathered. For you... similar area, he likes your feet to worship. 

c = cum (anything to do with cum basically… i’m a disgusting person)

How much more playful can he get. At your command, he’ll lick it off your butt. Sex with Namjoon is always super creamy-sloppy-sweaty anyways, he has a lot to gobble up.

d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Most of the other members have as many secrets as they have fingers, Namjoon, however, will exceed that by far. He wants to try shibari, sounding, pet play, flogging, collaring, and basically everything that comes with spreader bars and gimps. Clearly spends too much time on the internet because holy cow, that’s ambitious. But you can take it as a compliment to your skill, or rather, Namjoon’s conviction that you master a lot of kinks.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

In his mind, and in general terms of knowledge, very much so. He’s not just well-versed with humanitarian thought, kink is not safe from his curiosity. Practically, less so, but he learns fast with your lead.

f = favourite position (this goes without saying.)

Up against a wall. He is not above begging for you to pin him to one everywhere. Also his favorite mode of making out, by the way.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Oops! By accident. Like when removing pants, trying to at least, because his boner often gets stuck, or stumbling across the room entangled with you, trying to head towards the bed.

h = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Will definitely experiment with razors a lot. Because let’s face it, Namjoon is like straight out of a shaving commercial. Imagine him in those scenarios where the guy is all sensual under the shower with cream dripping everywhere, or leaning against the mirror wall. It’s totally worth filming.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

You probably have to prevent him from getting super cheesy... or allow it because oh my, he becomes even more hopelessly subby from that.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Edging, edging, edging. Him masturbating gets him into all sorts of trouble and everyone in BTS has at least one Kim ‘Fap Monster’ Namjoon story they can drunkenly tell at a party to embarrass him for eternity. He’s most infamous for moaning far too loud during climax and even talking to himself, or accidentally streaming his session into the group chat. The first sex-related thing that you’ll ever do is establish a couple rules for Fap Monster to follow, and generally engage in more guided masturbation than having him do it alone.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

The question remains, what kink doesn’t he have! But I get it, something specific, let’s see. That would be breast sucking. And not just on you, we all know the perks of Namjoon’s chest.

l = location (favourite places to do the do)

Now hear me out. It’s not the library, but something even more... out of the ordinary. Namjoon would totally be ready to have sex in abandoned places of some sort given that there’s not a spider every corner and unsafe debris. Maybe for nostalgic value, or the sheer thrill. You’ll have to talk about it.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Different every week. He will gladly explain that to you in his 2 AM texts that read like a Kant chapter each. 

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Now we had that, it’s more difficult to pinpoint that one. Nams would probably mention something that doesn’t go in accordance with his moral values and is general common sense either way, like some kind of creepy race/non-con play or certain forms of edge play torture that take hygiene concerns to a new level and would shred anyone without 10 years of experience. Besides exchanging thoughts with you, he’ll get busy in some BDSM forums online and inform himself on how the consensus is. Namjoon is definitely the type to know about what is controversial and being careful with that. He is kinky, but role model kinky. 

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Oh man. What can’t he do with his tongue. And those lips... fit perfectly on your labia. Surely equal amounts giving and receiving, 69 ahoy.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Sex with Namjoon is so dynamic, speed hardly stays the same over the course of a few minutes. Ever heard his tracks? You can assess how a rapper fucks by his mixtape alone. He switches flow every ten bars. That’s how Namjoon is in bed. 

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

You can jump on his dick as often as you please, problem is that Namjoon’s masturbation troubles transfer to your quickies as well. I think there’s a reason why abandoned places are perfect because otherwise, the whole world will know.

r = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

90% risk, 10% contemplation. That might seem unusual for him, but in your presence, Namjoon quickly becomes a bit of a carefree guy. Hormones are one hell of a drug. But! It’s good to see him leave his mind palace.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

To be fair: He tries and tries and tries. All that edging does give him a few bonus minutes of endurance, but 15 minutes is the limit. Two rounds max. 

t = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

One of the few members who isn’t caught up in the toy mania. Seriously, can you imagine Joon operating something like a Sybian? It’s not him. Instead, he prefers you to bring your own collection along, who said Kim Namjoon doesn’t like some anal beads to stretch him out.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

His teasing is so subtle, it’s a test for your intelligence. If you don’t get it, he can still do one of his infamous simple, but effective winks to get your attention. The guy has several methods up his sleeve and thinks you’re cool anyways. Namjoon is a pretty sophisticated flirt, you’ll love that.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Boy, what a confusion is that going to be for the neighbors. “Is Y/N watching Jurassic World again?” Nope, it’s your man making some weird inhuman noises and he’s proud of them. 

w = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

You can definitely take him hiking and have a lot of fun in the mountains, you know. Again, that saves civilization from Namjoon’s lack of vocal control and you have free reins to really make him choke and moan in the meadows.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Doctors hate him! How did Kim Namjoon grow such an impressive 8th member of BTS reaching from Ilsan to Seoul? Citizens use it as a bridge! Buy his secrets for just 70.99$! Now I’m joking, Namjoon dabbles around upper average independently of his body height, and you can be glad because if that was in true proportion your gynecologist would be the one hating him and that third leg. He’s definitely material for cock and ball torture, lots of areas to work with. Add the ass he’s been growing to spank. I swear the guy’s a sex symbol.  

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

How to describe it. Namjoon has a lot of pizzazz. It magically goes to sleep in the presence of books though.

z = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Click! Lights off. It happens pretty fast so you have to wrap it up quickly and kiss your koala goodnight. 

[moondustis]

sticky (m)

pairing: lee taeyong + reader genre: smut word count: 1,7k warnings: sub!taeyong, baby dom!reader, dry humping, handjobs, slapping. a/n: this... is a mess. im really sorry if you are really into the whole dom/sub thing and is about to read this fic because its a mess lmao!! anyway its inspired by taeyongs verse on baby dont like it of course (happy bday t)

summary: but after the third you realized that all you had to do was a play a role, act like you knew what you were doing. and besides, taeyong was probably not expecting you to become a full time dominatrix at the first try, he would be happy with anything you gave him.

for a college student you could say your sex life was pretty... tame. of course you had your fair amount of hookups during freshman year, but usually it was just you and your vibrator on special self care days. of course that changed when you started dating taeyong. you two had sex pretty often, taeyong being a 22 year old with the libido of a horny teenager, but things were still pretty vanilla. sure, taeyong liked dirt talking (especially when you did it) but that was the most common kink to ever exist. all that being said, nothing could prepare you for the words taeyong had said on what was supposed to be a quiet saturday of watching netflix and having missionary position sex. it was in the middle of a make-out session, taeyong’s hand holding your waist tightly and stopping the kiss to look at you with a puppy look on his face. “if i say a kinda weird thing do you promise to not freak out?” he had asked with a small voice. “of course. why would i freak out?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “oh my god, are you going to come out as a furry? please don’t. those costumes are too weird for me.” “NO. i’m not a furry, for fucks sake.” he said dramatically rolling his eyes. “then what is it? i’m sure i’ll be okay with anything else.” “it’s just...” he started, a blush creeping on his cheeks making him hide his face on your neck. “i was wondering if you would mind being mean to me during sex.” you didn’t freak out. the gasp you let out was calm and collected. “me-mean to you?” you questioned with a small voice. “yeah, like calling me names...and hurting me.” he explained and if he wasn’t hiding his face he would laugh at the way your eyes bulge. “you want me to hurt you?” you asked, because taeyong seemed to think you were some kind of prude that had no idea what bdsm was and he had to explain it to you like he was talking to a child. not that someone would talk about this to a child. “are you trying to tell me you’re a masochist?” at the mention of masochism he finally moves his head from where he was hiding it on your neck and stares at you. “yeah, that’s one way to put it.” you ponder over it for a few minutes. you never had nothing like it before and you bet your ass some of your exes would describe you as a vanilla sub. but taeyong seemed to really be into this stuff if his nervousness was anything to go by. “we don’t have to do it today. or any day at all, if you are not okay with it.” he said as if sensing your hesitation. “i just want you to think about it, okay?” you just nodded at him, promising to think about it and his smile was so genuine that you almost slapped him right there just to satisfy his kink. —— like promised, you think about it. you think about it a lot. you think about it so much that by the end of the week you have read three articles about bdsm, decorated more curse words than you ever thought you would and watched a total of five very long porn videos. to be honest it had become less about getting used to the idea and more about getting good enough at it. at least enough to make taeyong pop a boner. the videos you found were very... educational. at first you had freaked out a little over the fact you were never going to be able to pull of what those women did, with all the dick stepping and spitting. but after the third you realized that all you had to do was a play a role, act like you knew what you were doing. and besides, taeyong was probably not expecting you to become a full time dominatrix at the first try, he would be happy with anything you gave him. so you decide to give it to him, finding yourself on his lap just one week after his request and ready to be the dom you never thought you would be. you’re just kissing, his lips moving against yours with no rush and you can taste the wine you both had on his tongue. it feels nice and the hand he’s moving up your loose t-shirt is pleasant, but you have other plans. so, internally telling your heart to stop beating so much, you grab his wrist on it’s way to your chest and try to let out a natural tsk. “no touching today. unless i say so.” your voice is shaky and you’re sure there’s a very noticeable blush on your face but the way his eyes widen comically make you feel confident about it. “don’t you want to be a good boy for me?” it’s a cliche line, taken from one of the videos but taeyong seems to not mind at all just nodding enthusiastically at you. “i want to hear you say it.” another very cliche one. it’s almost like he’s trying to make it easy for you and you appreciate it. “i do. i want to be a good boy.” his voice is small but eager and it makes your insides tingle. “will you teach me how?” fuck. you think, he’s good at this. it almost makes you lose your composure, but you are quick to go back into character. this part is the one you were sure you would have a hard time doing. in the pornos you watched the women would use whips and all kind of objects to hurt their partners but you are not ready for that. at all. so you go for the only option you have, your hands. the way you run yours nails from just below his ears down to his chest leaves a faint red trace on the skin but it only seems to get a slight shiver from him. “you can be harsher. i deserve it for being a naughty boy.” his voice is barely a whisper and you’re amazed at how he manages to guide you through it without moving away from the submissive role. following his words you run your nails down again, this time harder and making the red marks even more prominent. the breathy moan he lets out makes you feel proud. you connect your lips together in a gentle manner, kissing him once softly and then moving your lips in a slow way. he gets so into it that he can’t help but let out a surprised gasp when you bite down at his bottom lip, drawing a little bit of blood. he moves to grab at your waist but you slap his hand away before he can ever touch it. the whine he lets out and the pout on his lips make it seem like he’s really upset about it, but the way his eyes are looking at you and his hardening cock against you thigh tells you otherwise. “i thought you were going to be good for me, yong.” you say imitating his pout and doing your best disappointed voice. “but i guess naughty boys can’t learn unless they are punished.” as if to accentuate your words you roll your hips down, getting the sweetest sound from him. the whole thing is affecting you more than you thought it would, already wet enough to leave a patch on his sweatpants but you can’t even feel embarrassed about it.  your mind is getting flogged by how good his dick feels against you even with the layers in the middle and you have a hard time remembering any of the things you saw online, deciding to just follow your instincts. you roll your hips more forcefully against him and he immediately closes his eyes, gripping the cushion beside him as if he’s trying to hold back. he’s already fully hard now, making your mouth water at the thought of him inside of you. “is my baby hard just from this?” you ask, cooing at him. he just nods, whining words that you can’t understand. it’s not enough for you so you grip his hair tightly, expecting him to open his eyes at that and when he doesn’t you slap him on the cheek with shaky hands. it’s not a hard slap, but it’s enough to leave his cheek red and to make his eyes snap open at you, mouth hanging open. “be good and answer me.” you demand, holding him by the chin. “do you want to cum or not?” “y-yes....please” he stutters, voice so desperate it makes you want to give it to him right now “i want to come so bad, please. pleaseee make me come.” the way he’s whining is what it takes for you to dip your hands bellow his boxers and take his swollen cock out of it. there’s a clog of precum on the angry red tip and you use your thumb to smear it over it. “the be good and come on my hand like the horny, filthy boy you are.” he doesn’t know what pushes him off the edge, if it’s your words, the fast strokes on his dick or the way your free hand was gripping his thigh. all he knows is that he comes so hard he sees stars. when he comes down from the high, finally managing to open his eyes, you are coming back from the bathroom with wipes on your hands and your cheeks a pretty blush. “that was really good, angel.” he praises you, his hand going to rub at your cheeks when you drop down on your knees to clean him up. “did i do a good job?” you ask with a small voice and it’s almost comic how the roles changed so fast. minutes ago you had him at your mercy and now he’s the one praising you. he hums and gestures for you to get up in the couch again, pressing a kiss to your lips. “you were amazing.” he replies. “i can’t wait for us to try bondage next time.” your reaction makes him laugh with his whole body.

[the-voice-of-hell]

Rent is Theft, part 21

Read from the beginning here, read the previous chapter here.  Note:  My MC is a Filipina trans woman and I am not.  If you have notes on that or anything else, hit me up.

                                                        ***

      When I woke the next day, head aching as bad as I expected, but there was a sort of pulling sensation I didn’t quite get.  I pawed at my temples.  There was a fresh wrap on my head that I did not remember putting there.  Leimomi must have done it in my sleep, and maybe a bit tightly.  I adjusted it.

      Then I realized that meant she would have had at least a few moments alone with that fucking bitch Reverse Courtney.  I was very alarmed by that.  What if she made it seem like that was my inner thoughts, that her hateful trash was my real feelings?  I couldn’t stand that.

      Leimomi was nowhere to be seen.  I stood up too quick, grabbed my head, and staggered around a moment.  She appeared in the doorway, all clean and wrapped up herself, the daylight lining her body.  She looked at me in concern, and I searched her face for a hint of Reverse Courtney trauma.

      “Did my stupid-ass head mouth say anything mean to you when I was asleep?”

      “I think so, but I don’t remember.  I only had it out for a moment, and I covered it.  I was real tired.”  She came into the darkness with me and held me in her arms.  “Are you OK?”

      I closed my eyes.  “Real hungover, but really good too.”  I lolled my head at unpleasant memories.  “I’m gonna try to forget my apartment exists for a few more hours, heh.”

      She kissed me and it turned into a little makeout session, right there.  I loved wrapping her in my scrawny arms, rubbing her all over.  I hoped it didn’t feel too much like being flogged with skeleton bones.

      Leimomi got me a bottle of water and then joined me on her bed.  I was still in the bathrobe from the other night, she was in capri leggings and a t-shirt.  We stayed on top of the blankets.

      “Thanks for helping me clean up, baby.  We gotta figure out a cleaner way to do all that.  Or just set my apartment on fire when we’re done with everybody, heh.”

      “It’s OK, Courtney.”  She ran a palm from my chest down to my belly, parting the robe.  “We’re both nice and clean.  You wanna fool around?”

      “Maybe just a little.  I dunno if I can go all the way with this headache.”

      “Aww.”  She pulled her hand back.

      “In for a penny, in for a pound?”

      “What?”

      “You don’t wanna fool around a little, gotta have a big climax or it isn’t worth your time?”

      “I dunno.  Why just do sex stuff a little?  That would be frustrating.”

      “Sometimes it can feel nice.”  I rolled onto my side to better look her in the face.  “Like, I’d love to kiss your *redacted* but I don’t think I’ve got the stamina to finish what I start.  But you might still kinda like it, even if it’s frustrating?  I know I’d like it.”  I made a grabby hand gesture in the air to underscore my point.  Give me those things, please.

      “Mm, OK, but if I get lady blue balls, I’m gonna be mad at you.”  She whipped off her shirt.

      *sex scene redacted for tumblr*

      Maybe we both fell asleep after that, or she just let me sleep for a bit, until we were roused by a knock at the door.

      I wrapped myself up to answer it, because Leimomi still had to wrestle her bra back on.

      “Marcie, hey.  Sorry I can’t invite you in just now.  You wanted to see Momi?”

      “I just wanted to see you, thank you for helping Mikey!”

      “Hey,” he said.  The daylight in the apartment had me a bit blind for looking into the hall, with its weak electric lights.  I hadn’t noticed him lurking behind her.

      “Mike, hey.  Feeling better?  Or worse?”

      “I’ll be alright.  Being green was kinda like being high, so I’m not too hot right now, but Marce is takin’ care of me.  She’s a saint.”

      “Well great.  I love you guys.  Have a nice one,” I said.

      “Love you too, girl!”

      I came back in, feeling nice, despite the low thunder in my head, and lay down on the bed again.  “Mike seems great.  It’ll be good to get done with this shit, but I just can’t do it again tonight.”  I laid a paw on her arm.

      “I figured.  That was rough.”

      “I know we can’t afford to wait for the next full moon.  Maybe we’ll just take one night off and go back to it.  I can try to come up with different spells for all our problems.”

      “Would you kick me in the stomach like Mike?”

      “Never.  Might have to shave your pretty hair, though.  I hope not.”

      She had a moment of alarm at the prospect but then shook it off.  “That’s silly.  I’ll be glad to go bald for a while to get rid of this problem.”  Then she looked sharply at me.  “But will you love me if I’m bald?”

      I grinned.  “Hell yes.”

      “But why?  That would be so ugly.”

      “No way, baby.  You’re real cute.  I love your hair but I haven’t seen it in a while, y’know?  I’m still coming around.”

      “If you say so.”

      “I do.”  I was about to say it would make her look more gay, and I’d love that too, but I knew that conversation would tread into territory where I’d find out whether she really thinks of me as a woman, and it killed my mood.

      “What do you like about me?  Is it just my big *******?”  She was looking coy, which is great, because I couldn’t handle her self esteem problems right then - not as well as she deserved.

      “Yes, hahaha.”  I squeezed * ***** maniacally and she pushed me back until my head squished into the pillow, threatening to lose the headwrap.  We settled down and I grabbed her hand.  “Seriously, I love everything about you.”

      “You don’t know everything about me.”

      “You aren’t who you used to be.  You’re who you are right now, and I know who that is.  You’re my girlfriend.”

      “I guess that’s true.”  She put an arm behind my head and I snuggled into place.

      “I was thinking about it.  I don’t know if I ever dated an Islander before.”

      She smiled.  “Just how many people did you date, Courtney?”

      I gripped her around the waist and shook her around.  “Grrr!”  I flopped back down beside her.  It was too much effort.  “You win, I’m a huge slut.  Huge hungover slutty slut.”

      “I love you, slut.”

      “I love you too, honey.”  I relaxed again.  “Anyway, I just mention that Islander thing, because it feels significant.  Like, I’ve never dated anybody that looks like my people.  You don’t look like the average Pinay, but if you flipped the islands probably a few Leimomi lookalikes would fall out.”

      “That’s weird.  Why you say that?”

      “I can imagine a different life, where we were from the same place.  Same neighborhood.  Where we grew up together.”

      “Oh no, you don’t wanna be in Pearl City with my family.”

      “That’s not what I mean.”  I touched her face.  “Get with me on this.  Just hear me out.”

      “OK...”

      “We’re in some kinda place that never existed.  Pilipwaii.  It’s a nice island, low key people working hard and not so many hustlers and problems.”

      “Pilipwaii?  What’s it look like?”

      “There’s a mountain but it isn’t an active volcano, pretty worn down.  The reefs around the island got so big they shelter it from storms.  The city is on a little plane, growing stuff like cane, bamboo, coconuts, bananas, mangos.  The only school is a catholic school, so we grew up being chased around by nuns with rulers.”

      “Why mean nuns?  You want the story to be nice.”

      “I want it to be believable.  So trouble in paradise, baby.  Anyway, you and me are schoolgirls together, best friends.”

      “How could I be friends with you?  You’re smart and--”

      “There aren’t so many kids in a small town.  Everybody knows everybody, and we just like each other, right?  I hope you can find that believable, because you’re my girlfriend.”

      “I’m your girlfriend in the story?”

      “Not yet.  Listen.”

      “Hmm.”

      “We’re just friends.  Best friends.  It can happen all kinds of ways.  You know, I’ve always had friends that are different from me.  Maybe I got hurt and you helped me out, or I helped you with your homework, or you were sad and I was nice to you one time.  And it stuck, we stuck together.  Best friends, in Pilipwaii.”

      “At the school with the mean nuns.”

      “That’s right.  So one day, I’m in love with this boy, and he’s mean to me.  He tricks me and then says he doesn’t like me in front of some other girls and everybody laughs and stuff.”

      “This is too sad.  Did the nuns laugh too?”

      “They did.”

      “I’ll kill ’em.”

      “It’s OK.  So I run home, I’m all sad and it’s terrible.  You find me and help me feel better, hug me and say nice things.”

      “I love you,” she said, and gave me a little squeeze.

      “That’s right.  Something like that.  We’re there, say, in a gazebo.  Big blue dragonflies are flying by.  It’s hot but there’s a cold breeze blowing off the ocean.  We’re schoolgirls, best friends, and you hold me and say, Hugo is a stupid ugly boy and I deserve better, and you love me and stuff.”

      “I hope the nuns don’t hear that.”

      “Well, you just mean, you love me like a friend, right?  We say that stuff, like friends.  But this time I’m looking you in the eye and I realize, maybe we could be more than friends.  But it’s a little island, so nobody ever told us that being gay is an option, right?”

      “This story is weird, Courtney.”

      “Is it OK?”  I searched her face.  She nodded in approval and I resumed.  “Well right, so you and me, we’re there, we’re schoolgirls, and we never heard the word lesbian in our lives, but I’m still super into you.  And then I kiss you, and you start to get it.”

      “Whoa.”  She looked at me, then away to the ceiling, and back again, thinking about it all.

      “Is that a good whoa or a bad whoa?”

      “Wait.  Now I know why people think schoolgirl skirts are sexy.”

      “Hehehe, nooo, I’m not trying to be a pervert.  I’m just saying, for all it matters, we could love each other any kinda way.  Like, it doesn’t matter how we got here.  Let’s just say we came from Pilipwaii.”

      “OK, but tell me about our skirts.  Are they kinda short?”

      “No, they’re long.  It’s a little island.  Very conservative.  But our shirts have short sleeves and we have little bow ties.”

      “That’s cute.  And you kissed me, and I start to get it, like, hey, we could love each other.  No Hugo.”

      “Yeah.  So we kiss and it’s kinda sloppy and stupid because we don’t know what we’re doing or know what to do.”

      “And I start to figure it out,” Leimomi said, “like what I wanna do.”  She reached inside my bathrobe, *redacted*

      “Oh no, I gasp!  I shy away.  It’s all so fast.  What are we doing?  Have we gone crazy?”

      “Whut.”

      “It’s part of the bit.  Like, there’s a push and pull.  Will we or won’t we?”

      “Oh.  But we will, right?”

      “You fucking know we will, baby.”  I kissed her savagely.  “But right now,” I panted a little, “I’m terrified of this forbidden love.”

      “I’m so sad, I can’t handle it.  I guess I’ll cry.”

      “Don’t cry, Leimomi.  I come back to you, take your hands.  What is this?  What are we doing?  We’re both girls.  It isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

      “But why?  Nobody is around, we can do whatever we want.  I want to love you so much, Courtney.”

      “It works, I’m like, oh shit, I can’t handle it anymore.  I open my shirt up.”

      “Heeheehee, yeah, now you’re talking.  I open my shirt up too.”

      *redacted*

      “It’s time for freedom.  Young ladies inventing lesbianism for the first time in the Universe, since all the other times it happened for other girls.”

      She pulled off her t-shirt again.  “Cool.”

      I unfastened her bra and *redacted sexy / emotional content*

      Were we being romantic or dirty?  Both by turns, but those turns proved awkward to navigate.

      We *redacted* and talked dirty and sweet until we both *redacted*  She’d already worn herself out some that morning, and I was surprised she was able to go again like that.  *redacted*

      In the afterglow, she didn’t jump up or freak out, which was great.  And I hadn’t gone down on her, so there was no question about kissing afterward.  We snuggled up, just the thin material of my bathrobe between us to reduce sweat.  I was tempted to *redacted* but I resisted the urge to avoid coming off like a total freak.

                                                        ***

      There was another knock at the door.  I rolled my eyes, put my robe on, and answered it.

      “Hey Patrick.  Were you looking for me?  Does Perry need help with something?”

      “Kinda.  I was wonderin’, how do we say who gets ta go next?  I’d like to go, get it done.”

      “My priority has been whoever is in the most danger of ratting us out, getting us in trouble.  You have something like that going on?”

      “Naw, it’s just somethin’ personal, bothers me a lot.”

      “Well I think we all need some rest tonight so not now, but maybe tomorrow we see about some kind of plan?  I don’t think anyone else seems likely to be a problem.  Like if Olivia’s head pops up, she can join a circus and make some real money.”

      “Thanks, Courtney, you’re a doll.”  He reached out to shake hands.

      My hands were both behind the door, only my head poking out.  “Ah, hands are full.  Thanks, Patrick.”

      “See ya later!”  He smiled and walked away.

      I looked down the hall after him.  His walk was a little awkward, but was that a clue?  What was going on under his clothes?  Marcie had two holes in her upper chest, I’d found, little squares that puffed out smoke.  Most of the time she could keep it down, but several times a day she had to open the covers to let it out, or she’d feel a burning in her lungs and throat.  Never did hear what Patrick and Perry had going on.

      I pushed the door closed with the backs of my arms, avoiding getting my wet hands on everything.  But that meant my hands were close to my face when she wasn’t looking.  I avoided touching my face, but I took a deep inhale, and one little lick of a finger.  It was awesome.  Sue me.

      I washed my hands and went back to her, sitting on the edge of the bed.  I was going to just stay another moment, but couldn’t resist laying down again.  This time I was on my belly, face propped up with one arm, the other draped over my lovin’ lady.

      “I was thinking about the haircut.  I think it would be real cute.  You could grow it out again later, but for now, it’s fun to play with a different look.”

      “Huh.  That’s weird.  Is it because you’re a grunger?”

      “Hehe, maybe.  But more than that, it’s like...  I know you’re bisexual like me, but you’re in lesbian love now, baby.  It might be fun to see you play the part.  Girls like me have to be girled up all the time just to have a chance of people treating us like we want.  But you?  You could get big flannel shirts and tank tops and stuff.”

      “Whaaat?”  She crinkled her forehead all to Hell like I was trying to teach her quantum mechanics.  “Dress like a lesbian?  Like, butch?”

      “I know, you aren’t really a butch.  You’re a sweet lil’ girly babe.  But it can be fun to play a different style, y’know?  What do you think?”

      “I never thought...  I guess I could.  But how would people look at me?  What would they be like?”

      “Some people might be mean.  A lot of people will be pretty nice.  And in this town?  Ladies will be on your jock, like twenty-five deep at all times.  You’ll have to keep them off you with a baseball bat.  Probably some weird fellas too.”

      “You’re lying.  No way that’s true.  Why would they?”

      “Lesbians like butches, but most of them are not.  It means you’d be a precious rarity.  Plus you’re so cute and tall and strong, you’d kill them dead.  They’d have trouble walking because their legs would go all wobbly around you.  It would be hilarious.”

      “Oh my goodness.”  She touched her face, which was hot and pink.

      I kissed her cheek to steal a little of that heat.  It was mine.  I put it there, after all.  “My cutie.”

      She shook off the embarrassment.  “You just wanna make the lesbians jealous.  That’s mean.”

      “I know.  I’m horrible.  But we gotta eat.  I’ll make us something.”

      I sprang out of bed and put on the clothes I’d brought over the previous night.  Leimomi dressed too, still lost in thought at the prospect of a makeover.  She followed me out and sat down across the kitchenette island from me, on one of the tall stools.  I got to work on some spam, macaroni, and cheese.  I found the sauce from the packets was less gross with some milk and spices added, and randomly found part of a red pepper to mix in.

      “You didn’t think much about being a lesbian before, huh.  What do you think now?  Gonna get those intertwined Venus symbols tattooed?  Doc Martens?”

      “I dunno.  If you think it’s a good idea.”

      “Again this power I have.  I feel like an evil hypnotist from Scooby-Doo.”

      “I just don’t care what I look like, I guess.  Like, you know why.”

      “Sorry, babe.  But yeah, I think it’ll be real fun to get you dyke clothes, at least to wear ’til your hair grows back.”

      “You’re a weird weirdo, but you’re my girlfriend, so I gotta do what you say.”

      “Lovers are supposed to be partners, equals.  If you gotta do what I say, then I gotta do what you say.  Any requests?,” I said, gesturing to the food I was making.

      “Naw.  You do it pretty good.”

      “Just ‘pretty good’?  Sounds like there’s room for improvement.  You don’t have to know how to cook to know how to judge food.  Just think, would I like this better if we did it like that?  I’ve made this for you before.  Didn’t do the pepper last time, but I had green onion and cayenne for garnish.  What did you think?  Was that alright?”

      “Green onion, is that the little green rings?”

      “The way I cut it that time, yeah.”

      “I didn’t mind those, but I didn’t like them either.”

      “That’s OK, I don’t have any this time.  How’d you like the texture?  Like, how it felt in your mouth.”

      “It was OK.”

      “Coulda been better?”

      “I dunno.”

      “Don’t make me follow through on that clown thing.”

      “Hehe.  OK, so what do you want?”

      “Was it too creamy, too thick, too sticky, too rich, too thin?  Do you prefer a different kind of sauce with macaroni?  If it’s really OK, then it’s OK.  But if it’s not OK and you’re pretending just to be nice, I’m gonna make us have clown sex.”

      “Is that a promise?”

      “Alright, so now I see how it is.  You really don’t care about macaroni sauce, and you might be into clown sex.  These are important things to know, for our future together.  I will take these mental notes and never reverse or overwrite them with contravening information.  No matter how much you protest, from now on, I will know that you want to look like a clown when we fuck.”

      “Don’t make it so complicated.”

      “So like, a simple clown outfit, nothing too fancy.  A few polka dots, big shoes, a red nose?”

      “Yeah.  But I thought you wanted me to dress like a butch dyke.”

      “You know the ‘D’ word now?  You’ll be ready for Pride in no time.  Hm...  I gotta figure out where to get combat boots with novelty foot length.”

      “A butch clown?  I don’t think the lesbians would be jealous of you anymore.”

      “Damn!  This is too complicated.  Maybe you were better prepared to go lesbo than I was.”

      “Heehee.”  She got shy.

      “Hey, you’re thinking about something and not telling me.”  The water was up to a boil so I turned the heat down to seven and poured in the pasta.

      “We both weren’t prepared.  We don’t have a double dildo.”

      I stood up straight in shock, though by then I should have been getting used to the idea of her knowing more about sex, in her own way.  “What.  What do you know about double dildos, girl?”

      “Well, usually lesbians use a double dildo, right?  Like one side goes in my pussy, and, uh...”

      “Best place for me to put my end is the back door.  But I’m sure plenty of lesbians don’t have double dildos.  Where did you hear about that?”

      “I just saw a porno once.  Some ladies used a double dildo.  Guess I thought...”

      “We could use a double dildo, if you want.  Sounds fun.”  I stirred the macaroni, had to bust some apart as they had started to clump in the freshly released flour goo.

      “Heehee.”  She played with her hands.

      “What else do you know about lesbian stuff?”

      “Ya know, I never thought about it, but the pornos I saw are different from the lesbians I see around town.  Like, in the pornos they have pretty hair and makeup, wear skirts and heels and stuff.”

      “Sharp.  That’s right.  Most of those pornos are made for straight dudes.  Might look different if ladies made ’em.”

      “Why don’t ladies make ’em?”

      “I dunno, but I could take a few guesses.  You wanna be like a real life lesbian, like the ones on the streets, or would you rather be a porno lesbian, like in the movies?”

      “We get a choice?”

      “Always.”

      “You are like a porno lesbian.”

      “Guess I made my choice.  How about you?”

      “If I have short hair, I’ll hafta be like a real life lesbian.”

      “Or you could mix it up.  That’s what they call ‘queer’.”

      “So if I have short hair, but I still wear makeup and stuff, I am queer, but if I have short hair and I wear a flannel shirt, I am butch?”

      “That’s close enough to right.”

      “I dunno.  I don’t like to be wrong, to say the wrong thing.  Maybe I won’t talk about this stuff with real life lesbians.”

      “Just porno lesbians like me, right?”

      “Umm, maybe just you.  Not another porno lesbian.”  She considered that.  “Wait, are there porno lesbians in real life, aside from you?”

      “Not a lot of us, and I’m sure most of us wouldn’t want to be called that.  They also say ‘lipstick lesbian’ for ladies that stay lady-like, though most of them are still gonna do things their own funny way.  I kinda like that porno lesbian thing for myself, because I’m not gonna dress like the singer from 4 Non Blondes.”

      “I don’t get that one.  You lost me again.”

      “Hahahaha, you’re in for a treat.  I’m gonna look that up for you when we’re done eating.”  I served up the food.

                                                        ***

   Read next chapter here.

[pass3rby]

Caught By Your Past

23rd Part

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Pairing: Altair x Malik Warnings: modern AU, mature, OOC, OFC; unbetaed Summary: Keeping the past forgotten is manageble as long as you don’t get confronted with it head on, right? After all, what eyes can’t see… But what if your past came right to your doorstep?

A/N: Big revival’s here! First things first: 22nd Part underwent a bit of a transformation (AKA So... I've made some adjustments. *chorus sigh*), therefore in this part you’ll see basically what you maybe already read (if you’ve read CBYP in its first form). That being said, almost every chapter had been tinkered with at least a bit (in some cases a lot), so I recommend re-reading the whole story in case you want the puzzle pieces to fit much better.

Altair was undeniably elated as of late. The downside?

“Don't worry your snarkhood is safe with me.”

The whole thing was a downside.

“My what.” Way to force a head up, Malik had to admit as he tore his attention away from the laundry he was pulling out of the washing machine. Propped against the doorframe and excluding jolly mood, Altair didn't hesitate to reassure Malik that he heard right.

“Your snarkh-”

“I hold no fear of endangerment of my 'snarkhood'. Or any other 'hood' for that matter.” Quipping up to par in exchange, he pointedly returned to his previous business.

“I was talking only about your true identity.” They were so not obviously done here. Shoot him dead. What was it.

“My true identity.”

“But of course, Ser Snarkhood,” here, Altair executed an extravagant bow, musketeer style. “Thus begins the unfolding of a story revered, of a recluse wreathed with gratitude of simpleminded, a recluse most know just as a hearsay. Escaping and rebelling against the laws of socialization, he hid in local woods since there's a price written on his head-”

“Snarkhood. Price on my head. Real charmer. Get lost, you perverse Nothing-ham.” Throwing a damp T-shirt at Altair's head was Malik's non-verbal free bonus to the reply; hopefully discouraging enough to make the riot rethink the idea of staying around. It must've been effective, because the enemy chose to beat a hasty retreat. With badly contained laughter, but Malik would take it.

Stopping in the middle of unloading the washing machine, he went over to where the unlucky piece of clothing landed after hitting its mark. The least he could do was to retrieve it after the job well-done.

Cue a sister lying in wait. And she didn't waste any time to pluck her prey.

“You're strangely open to the quip sessions you guys have. Usually, you'd throw the conversation to the curb right at the start of it.”

There used to be a time when the pure mention of washing room had deterred young people from getting anywhere near it. Heartwarming memories… cruel reality of today.

Lifting what he stalked over for off the floor, he took in her sparkling eyes and FBI profiling analyst remark.

“He's like a puppy. You gotta play with it or it dies.” The hero henley and the rest of its family reunited with a flop and Malik heaved the whole basketful up, clearly on his way out. Gie stepped aside to leave the doorway free; obviously, that wasn't a standard interrogation procedure, but he'd be the last person complaining.

“You're impossible, Malik.” Not even stopping when passing by the officer, he bestowed upon her his own parting words like a monarch.

“I try.”

Relocating into the bathroom, he pulled at the retractable washing line to get down to business.

In all fairness, he might've deserved and expected an outrageous show of madness from Altair. Granted, he toyed with the goofball a bit prior to the encounter, but it would be irresponsible and misleading to let Altair think that Malik's going to roll over and go with whatever and whenever. Malik didn't have a heart to do that. Setting limits and drawing lines was important. And so the boot camp begun. Which went along the lines of:

“Talk to me.”

“No.”

“We could-”

“Reading.”

“Come on…”

“Making a coffee.”

“That doesn't take long.”

“Feeding a cat.”

“You don't have a cat!”

As was obvious from the example – simple exercises in accepting a negative response for an answer were not only needed; they were necessary when handling an attention seeking missile. He didn't need someone permanently on his case and while Altair admittedly wasn't that bad, Malik still needed to ensure he'll have a working system present, which would send Altair a clear signal to give him a breather when Malik needs it.

He should've expected the side-effects. Due to the method chosen to pass that particular message, anyone as bullheaded as Altair was bound to turn up on his doorstep with a crazy routine after that; Malik could see it now. Therefore, as ridiculous as this attempt with snarkhood had been, it was time for a reward, so Malik'd actively joined in.

The addition of Gie in the setting threw him back into a more somber mood. While he might have not shown it on the outside, his mask didn't erase the change and the mark it left stayed with him. Malik felt entitled to continue question everything, feel off about it since looking at her input reminded him of a skipping stone. Getting to realize your crush is your brother's ex, playing into that rooftop surprise, not stabbing Malik in the gut when they got back and then ribbing him some? If nothing else, his sister was less violent than an average broken-hearted woman.

Georgie was a good girl; no angel by any means, but she was a solid human being without a question. She also had a sense of self-worth – which was probably exactly what created this 'incomprehensible' block that Malik was dealing with. He wasn't one to flog himself daily and held no desire to start with it either, however, in this case he would understand a well-aimed kick, slap or that smack upside the head that she favored so much. Instead, and quite clearly, she was okay with what the three of them evolved into. As in genuinely, for whatever reason and no matter the plans thrown out of the window, alright. Well, he was weird according to standards, there was no reason why his sister couldn't be, too. At least one answer to that. Where did that leave them, though?

Let's try to tackle the monster to the ground from a scratch. Malik wouldn't call them an extraordinary pair of siblings. In fact, they'd probably fit the norm. He was a big brother, he looked after her. Gie was a younger sister, she raised havoc. There was no science involved. You take care of your sibling, you love them and that's it. So much for the facts. There was no apparent reason for her to spare him her wrath. The only conclusion he could draw from that was that William Congreve would be either sorely disappointed or pleasantly surprised.

Staring down the freshly hanged clothes, he was loath to admit defeat.

They hadn't spoken a word about it. The facts were undeniably out there in the open, yet both of them just seemed to… go with what the other went with.

Done here in more senses than one, he retired – about to develop more senses than one as well – into his room.

Altair was absent, that was the first information that made it to his brain. Thinking back, he heard someone leaving the flat. On autopilot he sat behind his desk and switched the laptop on, blindly watching the system boot up.

He should take it at face value and stop digging into it. There were only two issues with that. First, years had ingrained into him to dig deeper and second, these 'face value' accepted things tended to blow into one's face sooner or later.

Closing his eyes, he massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to elevate the pressure building there. The action didn't result in much success, so he gave up altogether in favor of grabbing his phone to at least check the time and see how much he's got left to finish his current load of work.

An unread message. His finger went to click the appropriate button only to reveal the most wretched text message he ever had the displeasure to see:

He didn't call. Altair brought his favorite anyway.

The rest of the day saw the brunette simply sharing the same space while doing this or that.

Malik gave him a peck goodnight.

Face value it was.

Next

A/N:

William Congreve reference - he’s the author of the famous “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

[thegoodloveproject]

30 Days of D/s: Drop is Real

I thought I was ready for that spanking scene. As the hits came down over and over again I realized how wrong I had been. I found myself in a headstrong and focused type of subspace; stoic and stubborn. It was almost more like “bratspace” if such a thing has been named. I wanted to show Him how much I could take. I wanted to prove to myself that I could be unbreakable.  And the spanks kept coming. Time had become a faint notion as I became so sensitive to my burning ass cheeks that I could feel the thin lines between each of His fingers. If you had written a word on his hand in ink I could probably have told you what it was. 



“He’s trying to break me,” I thought to myself, “He hasn’t broken me in our other scenes today, and He’s determined to break me now.” I pushed the platform toes of my stiletto heels into the floor, bracing myself to remain silent. But the pain was building, and I wouldn’t be able to hold it for much longer. Each hit seared my flesh and I was confused over whether I was actually starting bleed or not. I wasn’t, but my skin burned as though it was splitting.  The pressure in my body built until I could hold it and an ear-piercing howl ripped it’s way out of my throat. 



The spanking stopped and the world was silent.



He sat me on His lap, the rough denim of His pants aching on my tenderized bottom. “You were determined to not be broken, weren’t you?” I kept my gaze calm and nodded, avoiding eye contact. “You took a lot just now,” He said, “Are you broken?” I shook my head “no”. “Good girl” As the studio lights and cameras were shut off, I silently walked out of the dungeon set in a daze. I found myself in the bedroom setting, surrounded by bright colors and soft items… when something inside me snapped.

I thew myself on the heart-print blanketed bed and began crying, wailing, uncontrollably.

Animal sounds of fury filled my ears in a voice I barely recognized as my own and I started throwing teddy bears and pillows. “Get that camera out of my face!” I screamed as the cameraman (a former war photographer I learned later) tried to capture intensity of the moment. He walked in calmly, as if nothing was wrong, completely undisturbed by my display. I saw Him and my cries turned mournful, a cathartic emptying of my entire being. “I’m sorry” I said, ashamed and frightened by my sudden tantrum. He gently shook his head and rubbed my back when I finally collapsed on the bed in an exhausted heap. “You don’t have to stay silent to prove that you’re strong. We see how strong you are. One day, you’ll see it too.”  I smiled a quiet smile as He tucked me in and fell into the deepest, most restful sleep I’d ever known.


Today we’re digging a bit deeper into the other, not-so-fun side of Domspace/subspace… the Drop! Topdrop or subdrop can be physiological or emotional and they can be rough to deal with but with some planning you can potentially prevent or at least ease the drop. We’ll also talk about some ways to process the emotions that come up after a scene.

What is Topdrop/subdrob? After the hormonal high of scene, particularly if Domspace or Subspace was reached, your body will return to homestasis… it comes down.  As with any high there can be feelings of withdrawal as hormone levels shift.  It’s also possible that you’ve done some intense personal work; pushing limits, faced a fear, played in your shadow. If you’ve ever felt just wrecked after a therapy session you’ve got an idea how this can play out post scene. 



(For the remainder of this article I will be referring to both Domdrop and Subdrop collectively as just “Drop”)

Some physical signs of Drop can be fatigue, crying, ache and pains, feeling cold (especially in the extremities or a general chill across your skin), shivering and shaking, or craving sugar.  Psychologically or emotionally, Drop can present as feelings of  guilt, shame, melancholy, fear, confusion, or agitation. This is not exhaustive of course, Drop shows up differently for everyone, even from one time to another. Generally though, most folks start to recognize their own telltale signs of Drop.



Point of interest; just as athletes and artist can get into Flow space or “the zone” some also experience an intense after a performance, a bout or a meet.

Be gentle with your partner if you see that they are in Drop headspace.  Subs may forget protocol, Dominants may be a bit testy or withdrawn. Don’t take it personally and Dom/mes maybe don’t punish your submissive for a forgotten honorific immediately after a scene. They don’t need punishment, they need Aftercare (and Dominants deserve Aftercare too).

Remember the old adage: An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.  You may not be able to 100% prevent Drop but you can lessen its effects with some pre-scene preparation and conditioning. Here’s a few suggestions:

Lubricate… your brain! Being well hydrated will keep you feeling good, focuses and ready to play.  The less background stress your body is dealing with the more present your will be in scene and the less toll play will take on your brain and body.



Eat a light meal before play - Something nutritious with some veg and protein is a good idea, especially for a longer play session. Give your body a good slow burning fuel to build endurance and prevent lightheadedness. Don’t overeat tho! A overly full tummy can make bondage or certain positions uncomfortable or induce feelings of nausea.



Consider stretching or gentle movement to warm up body.  This may look like a short yoga flow, running in place or jumping jacks, or even something gentle like some Tai Chi or Qi Gong. Light exercise gets the blood moving, the body warmed up and can prevent injury (any Dom/me that’s experienced a sore shoulder after a night of flogging someone can appreciate this).  Movement also starts to pull your awareness into your body and out of your head making for a better transition into play space and preparing your body for intense sensations.


Check in with yourself (mood, mindset, symptoms of chronic illness). Rough day at work? Did you talk about something triggering in therapy today? Are you feeling premenstrual or having a Fibromyalgia flare up? Did you remember to take your medications at the right time? If you are feeling off for some reason you might want to consider postponing play or renegotiating your activities. It’s perfectly ok to say, “I’m just not int he right headspace tonight” It’s better to skip play for cuddles than force yourself through a scene with stress or pain in the background.

Be prepared! Have water, some light snacks (dark chocolate or something salty works well) and a blanket or two nearby.  Communicate your aftercare needs and preferences before you play. If you are in an established D/s relationship you’ll likely develop an aftercare ritual but some casual players may not be available for aftercare. If this is the case, prepare for some self aftercare (I like to do self massage followed by a hot bath) or have an after buddy, a friend you trust that will be down to take care of you post scene.



Self Care and Processing



Sometimes Drop can last for a few days or perhaps you came upon some emotions you weren’t aware needed tending too. Be gentle with yourself while you process your experience and whatever feelings may have been stirred up.  Try journaling about the scene, what you liked, disliked and learned, what came up for you? If you have a kinky or kink-friendly person you trust you share your experience and observations (get consent first).  Most importantly, check in with your partner.  A call 24 hours later is good, an in person chat after a few days of things were very intense. Gush over the good and share what you’d like to be different next time ( you can find my after scene check in form here).

Don’t fear the Drop, just be ready for it, whenever it happens and know that you are not alone.

[hastybooks]

how to take, pt. 1

There's no clock to watch in the break room, just a handwritten sign that reads "for a plasent experience please clean up after your-self" and a TV with a stripe of dead pixels down the middle. The TV blares the noon news at top volume for Randy's benefit. Carey's never wanted to destroy something so much. Well. Since yesterday.

Carey only does real actual work for three hours straight-- and then hangs around for four and a half hours, feeling boredom crush his skull like an iron vise, staring at old intranet interfaces while he pretends to track down Account 10258. He knows that once Corporate get computers that are much smarter and cheaper than having to pay humans-- he'd be out of this hell organization if he hasn't gotten out by then.

Four years here has felt a lot closer to forty. This gig only has one perk. Superior work/life balance. He has no interest in getting up the ladder because he can do math and divide managerial salaries by the hours they're expected to work. Still, 29.5 hours per week at Bullshit Co. doesn't pay the bills he has.

Good thing Carey's also got no shame and a pretty body and a taste for casual cruelty.

Carey leans back against his chair, wondering how many messages are on his burner phone back in the room he rents. Supposedly outside these windowless beige walls, the sun is shining and the weather is above 20 degrees C. Spring makes people want to fuck.

And that means people come to Carey-- Sir to these people-- for a little flogging and meanness and if they're good enough, a little suck. He looks at his phone-- 2:34. Just two hours and 21 minutes until he can go home and look at his burner for client requests.

#

Wednesday night rolls around, with Carey having an appointment at his third-favorite no-tell motel. The motel is out of everyone's way, past an abandoned office park, and if Carey listens closely he can hear the rumble of planes overhead.

Carey's looking forward to opening the door to Room 6 tonight.

Negotiating the place, the fees, the pain got a lot easier when Carey told this client to send him a shirtless selfie, no face. He always asks for these pictures. Clients like preening, maybe feeling the slight tinge of humiliation if maybe they're not as toned as the faceless picture of himself that he sends them, smooth skin and muscles, his thumbs hooked around a rodeo-style belt and a thin trail of hair creeping up underneath his belly button. It's one of Carey's favorite selfies, even if it's titled runaway_cowboy on his external HD.

Carey doesn't just ask to embarrass them, although it's a nice bonus for those older clients. Hitting people well requires thought, especially if they're paying for a two-hour session. It's easier on the hand to give slaps on fat than slaps on bone, and surgical scars are generally a no-go. This client--

He sent Carey a barely-crisp picture of a beefy torso, densely covered in hair with a thin bar running through a faintly-pink nipple, just like his handle promised: w00dluver. Carey had texted him, told him to pinch that pierced nipple, and got a blurrier picture of him doing it, just enough to make him 90% sure that it was real.

Carey isn't picky, but it's occasionally nice to be able to work over someone who's closer to his size and age. He sends a text to this John called Shea, telling him he's here, and walks up the stairs with his play backpack. A suitcase is harder to explain than a backpack, and Shea isn't demanding too many toys. Just some good old-fashioned man-handling. The motel door opens, showing Shea.

Shea's only an inch taller, got only ten extra pounds on Carey, and looks like a mean professor. Carey leans against the doorway, one thumb hooked in his jean pocket, and tilts his head. "Ready for a good time, kid?" he smirks. Shea clears his throat and nods, "Yessir," trying not to meet Carey's eyes, like there's a time limit on this.

Well. Shea did just pay for two hours, and Carey closes the door behind himself. The lock clicks, and Shea shifts from one foot to another, his beard barely hiding his blush. Carey tosses his backpack on the closest bed and looks at the lurid swirl of green-orange of the bedspread, saying, "You going to be still?"

Shea freezes at the edge of Carey's eye, his hands pressed flat against his worn jeans. Carey looks back at Shea. The picture hadn't lied. Shea's a big boy. Carey rests his eyes on Shea's shoes, dusty and creased, up to his ill-fitting polo, the crumpled camo cap on the bed stand, the beat-up wallet next to the cap, filling in the blanks. Country boy, quiet, control freak, and Carey locks his eyes with Shea's, seeing those dark eyes tremble from not looking down and away.

Change a few things around and they could be good buds. Carey squeezes Shea's shoulder, digging his nails in hard, and drawls in his best BC twang, "Get on your knees, you fairy."

Shea does. Slowly, glaring up at him the whole way, his jaw clenching. Carey bites down on the urge to smile at how he's so fucking defiant, almost proud, and can almost see the next two hours folding before him. He rarely has to send someone down into subspace-- they do it to themselves, the fantasy of a dom slapping cock in their faces, posing and snarling at them making them easy and suggestible.

Shea is going to fight him. He'd probably lose. Carey rakes his hand through Shea's thick hair, yanks it back hard, and says calmly, "Thank you."

Carey sees Shea's massive shoulders slide down a little before he hikes them up again. Shea snarls, "Is this the best you can do?" Carey plucks at his polo, and drags it off Shea's torso, tossing the XXXLT across the room and steps away. Shea doesn't move, and Carey can feel him glaring at his back while Carey sets the air conditioner to the lowest possible setting. It's a warm day, but not that warm, and Shea's nipples harden in the chill air as he watches Carey move across the room. People think that big guys like him and Shea have no problem staying warm, but all that muscle takes energy to keep warm, and being still on the floor doesn't help one whit.

Thermodynamics' a bitch. Carey pulls his clothes off, folds them neatly on the bed next to his backpack, wearing just his PVC harness and black bike shorts, snapping the waistband against his hip to get Shea's attention. He's got it, can feel Shea looking at his ass and cock. He slips on fingerless gloves, flexes his fingers into easy fists and looks over at Shea. Shea averts his eyes, swallowing, and Carey presses his feet flat against the carpet.

Walking back to Shea is easier this time, and Carey hits the meat of Shea's arm with the tip of his knuckles. Shea jerks, and Carey says, "Two for flinching," punches the back of his arm, right above the elbow, and Shea clenches on a noise. Carey presses his foot over Shea's thigh, and says, "Not going to cry?"

Shea grinds his teeth, "Fuck you," and Carey smirks as he shoves Shea's face against his crotch, rubbing the smooth fabric of his shorts against Shea's mouth. He strokes himself with Shea's lips, feeling his stuttering breath through the thin fabric, the prickle of his beard. Carey doesn't have to say the obvious, and Shea pants when he gets pushed back, his hands loose against his thighs.

"Get up," Carey says. Shea scrambles to his feet, clumsy from kneeling, and Carey walks around him. He can see Shea fight to not look over his shoulder, and he drags his nails down the center of Shea's back, right down against his ass. Carey presses his mouth to Shea's ear, "You're going to take off your jeans. You're going to show me how easy you are."

Shea hesitates for a breath, but slides out of his jeans, his underwear, and Carey lets himself leer at the glimpse he can see of the flushed cock hanging in between Shea's thighs. Carey strokes down Shea's hip, "Bend over on the bed."

"No," Shea says, and Carey curls his arms around Shea's arms, and squeezes his biceps in between his elbow. Carey rushes him down against the bed. The thump echoes beyond the thin walls. Carey pushes down as Shea tries to arch off the sheets, his legs scrambling underneath their combined weight. Carey pushes a leg in between Shea's, and says calmly, "I don't repeat myself."

Shea struggles, enough to realize that Carey's got all the leverage. His arms are pinned back, and this position must be pushing the air out of his lungs, and Carey nudges his leg up higher. Shea shivers when Carey's thighs press against his balls, and Carey lets him go. Shea falls forward on the bed with another thump, twisting to get on his back--

Carey pinches the soft inside of Shea's thigh with a casual "no". Shea stops, and Carey slaps his thigh, brushing his balls, "If you wanted me to bust your balls, you could have asked." Shea doesn't answer in words, but the back of his neck is almost brick-red and Carey slips his thumb down his furred cleft. That makes Shea still, every inch of him paying attention. Carey presses his thumb in.

It's tight, too tight, and Carey almost feels guilty at how much Shea's asshole is fluttering around his thumb. Almost.

Shea fists his hands against the sheets. Carey feels his asshole clenching around his thumb, can see how that made Shea break out into a sweat, breathing hard and his thighs splaying open. Of course Carey rocks his thumb, just enough to rub against that tight rim, and he knows exactly what Shea's looking for now. He can just reach the lotion on the bed stand. It's not lube, but that's why he's slipping it against Shea's ass. Carey pushes the lotion in, cold enough to make Shea hiss between his teeth. He presses his face against Shea's jaw, "Show me."

Shea has the good sense not to ask Carey what, and to just lift his hips up from the sheets, forcing him back onto Carey's thumb, grunting as he tries to work himself open and failing. Carey cups Shea's balls, feeling how heavy they are, how he clenches harder when Carey pulls on them just this side of painful. Shea swears under his breath when Carey slips his thumb out, and Carey only has to glance at Shea's ass before he gets the dildo.

Pushing the dildo in, with just the barest amount of lube, makes Shea tremble and struggle not to move. Carey watches Shea's eyelashes flutter, watches how Shea makes himself relax and take it, just a little worse than he probably thought he'd be able to. Carey waits until the dildo's in, waits until Shea leans back onto the sheets and his breathing evens out, to hit Shea.

The whine he gets when he hits him with his hand on the back of his thigh goes straight to his cock. Carey hits him again, his hand flat against Shea's ass, smacking him and making him clench even harder around the dildo, making him rock against the bed. Shea tries to move towards Carey's hand, and gets tapped on his cheek instead. Carey slaps the insides of Shea's thighs, squeezes his balls before he flicks them, and laughs when Shea howls.

Carey shoves the dildo in, angled just enough that it's getting Shea's prostate too hard, and rolls him over. Shea's cock jerks and leaks across his abs, looking red and squeezable-- so Carey squeezes it, his thumb nail scraping across the foreskin. Shea jerks, his hips lifting up, trying to fuck into the grip. Carey pushes him down, and slaps him, right where the beard'll hide any mark Carey leaves. Shea licks his lips, his eyes only softer in comparison with the rest of his body, tense and strung--

Kneeling right between those thighs, his hand cupping Shea's balls so tightly he can feel them twitching, Carey rubs his finger along where the dildo's stretching Shea's open, hot and almost raw. Shea thrashes his head against the sheets at the gentle touch, and Carey curls up a smile. He slides his hands off Shea, and kneels above his face. He's hard, of course he is, and Shea parts his lips in a silent plea.

Carey obliges Shea by shoving his cock in that mouth, rocking carefully on his knees--

Shea sucks messily, his eyes squeezed shut, his lips slipping over the tip of Carey's cock. His face is covered in sweat, and he's breathing hard in pants between Carey pushing against his face. His arms are flat against the sheets, trusting him to do all the work, and well, Carey can jerk off like this, watching him try so hard.

He comes on Shea's thick beard, a small splash, and rubs it in, not quite letting him taste his come even though his tongue darts out to taste his fingers. Carey leans away, and pushes Shea on his front. Shea goes easily, his muscles slack and his ass up in the air.

Carey fucks him like that, thrusting the dildo in and out fast enough to make his arm ache, and listens to Shea make those hot ah, ah sounds before he comes, getting the sheets even dirtier and his body one long shake--

Shoving the dildo in makes Shea spurt again on the sheets and fall against the come he put there. Carey slips his fingers through Shea's sweaty hair. Shea's not going to move, so Carey does, ignoring the way his shoulder tingles as he leans up and says, "Good. Little. Fairy."

Shea laughs, wrung-out, and Carey drags his nail down his slick neck, "Five minutes."

Afterwards, Shea tips him and doesn't apologize for being a hard fuck. Carey likes that.

[usamotorscycle-blog]

Church Of MO – 2004 XB12S: Cheddarheads Strike Again

Whenever he gets a chance, John Burns likes to ramble on about how much he likes Buellmotorcycles. The old ones, the new ones, it doesn’t matter. He’s a fan of Erik Buell’s vision and its execution. Case in point? JB’s review below of the 2004 Buell XB12S. A self-proclaimed lover of the XB9S, riding a bigger, better version of the XB-S around Road America left a big smile on his face. Hell, he still speaks fondly of it today. Check out what he has to say about it below, and for more pictures of the bike be sure to click on the photo gallery.    2004 XB12S: Cheddarheads Strike Again By John Burns Apr. 20, 2004 Like S. Langhorne Clemens, who came in with Halley’s Comet and went out with it, I, JB, had my first racetrack ride on a Buell (RR1000, circa 1990) and maybe my last on one the other day at Road America up in the Great White North upon the new XB12–both R and S versions. I may be hanging up the spurs, kids. I’m 43 and no longer on the Up escalator of the ol’ learning curve. I’ve always been a danger to myself, of course, but on Road America’s tight little “Motorplex” track, which is like a paved version of the 80cc track at Lake Elsinore MX Park and where we rode the S version of the bike, I also took out the correspondent for the Canadian version of “USA Today” (that’s got to be some excellent bedtime reading).

Johnnyb @Elkhart Lake, demonstrating the distinctive Burnsian style of lawn mowing. That’s right, just as I was thinking to myself, damn these Buells turn good on the brakes… I locked up the front and took the guy out like a bowling ball heading into a tight little right. I also took a handlebar in the chest, and for the first couple of weeks afterward it hurt almost too much to smoke. Hence, I was all set to announce my retirement when the phone rang just now: Erik Buell calling to tell me don’t feel so bad, Johnny, our timers said you were going faster than Don Canet at the time… This is of course, complete and utter crap and I bet Tripp (Tree’-up) Nobles put him up to it–and yet I shall grasp at this straw and believe it forever.

A nice new longer stroke takes the XB to 1203cc. Check the fatter exhaust headers… It could be true, if DC was testing low-rev carburetion during one of those laps where I cut the course. In any case, I’ll take it and in a few years will no doubt even believe it. It’ll be excellent when Canet and me are in the retirement home. As you may have noted in these pages, I was already probably the biggest fan in all of motojournalism re: the XB9S (and to a lesser degree the clip-on equipped R model). Mainly what’s going on with the new XB12 is stroking that loveable old lump of an air-cooled twin from 3.125 inches to 3.812 (leaving bores at 3.5 inches), thereby increasing displacement to 1203cc. A set of stronger new knife-and-fork connecting rods carry tough new pistons through those elongated strokes. A new larger-bore (49mm) intake tract with a pair of revised injectors stoke the intenal combustion proceedings, while 1.75-inch exhaust pipes replace the 1.5-inchers of before and expire into a new muffler with an electronically controlled valve like the ones on Japanese literbikes. The end result of all that, Buell says, is 24 percent more torque than the XB9 in a flatter curve, and 103 crankshaft horsepower. It’s kind of like the difference, Erik Buell grins, between a big-block Corvette and a small-block. American engineering.

If you see a thing like this getting bigger in your mirrors instead of smaller, it’s a good idea to stop for gas or something… Apart from that, the XB12’s (and the XB9’s as well) get a few detail improvements but nothing particularly major (save the $1K bump in price to $10,995). If you’re wide you’ll appreciate mirrors on two-inch longer stalks. There’s a tougher new final-drive belt, a longer peg on the shifter, lower passenger pegs… er, I think that’s it. Aesthetically, the 12’s sport very cool “translucent amber” wheels which sort of glow in the dark compared to conventional gold anodized ones, and to an easily amused by shiny objects person like myself, the effect against the dark gray fuel-in frame is very nice–particularly set against my favorite thing about these bikes, which is that they are tiny.

Well it’s certainly no SV650 or VFR Honda, but there is a certain appeal. I could be biased, maybe I’m just overtaken by a wave of patriotism or nostalgia or something. My wife is from Wisconsin, but I like the place and the people there anyway. New bikes normally get introduced around January / February, which generally means press introes have to happen in Mediterranean or southern hemisphere climes, and I’m not complaining but the whole thing always winds up feeling a bit alien and jet-lagged. Buell does things differently, and so it’s the exceedingly lovely, green Road America in mid-June–right down the road from the East Troy Buell digs–and never mind that one of the fastest road circuits in North America might be the last place you’d want to showcase anything powered by what’s basically a Harley-Davidson Sportster motor.

Here, the XB12R goes around a corner. After all the highly regimented Japanese-bike launches I’ve been on, this one was like a family picnic, with Paul James the Buell PR guy showing un-PR-guy speed on the track, and Erik would’ve been out there too if not for a ruptured disc in his back which did not keep him from giggling like a big kid the whole time anyway. Even if the new XB doesn’t have the very latest in motive power, the very advanced things it does have in its favor mean it’s still an absolute blast to ride around the track, and 140 mph on the clock into Canada Corner, at the end of the long, tree-lined backstraight doesn’t seem particularly slow to me in my advanced state of decay. Like the XB9 but 24 percent moreso, the XB12 is sort of sneaky fast: The red zone on the tach is set at 7000 instead of 7500 rpm, and so there aren’t really any aural clues to back up the visual ones of the scenery hurrying past. Whatever. The slightly heavier yet still short-wheelbased, quick-turning little mass-compacted Buell is still one of my favorite bikes to flog whatever the venue. Dunlop D207 tires are passé at this point, even déclassé–and yet when I looked to see what kind of sticky tires we were riding on after a couple of sessions, there they were (special versions for Buell). It’s just such an excellently balanced little machine. (Buell says suspension for XB9 and XB12 is identical.) And just like the XB9, the thing is completely unruffled by bumps, and completely stable come hell or high water–amazingly so for a bike with a 52-inch wheelbase, 21-degree rake and 83mm trail. Must be some sort of highly advanced engineering going on here…

Here the XB9S, with actual handlebar and lower footpegs, goes around a corner. Through Road America’s big fast Carousel, the XB could carry as much speed as you could drum up on the way in, feeding in more throttle all the way around and not sliding so much as gravitating outside by the time you get to the exit. There toward the end of the day I was dragging the right footpeg feeler quite a bit–the only thing on the Buell you can drag without crashing on street tires, I think, and only when your knee puck is molten. I was thinking more aggressive brake pads might be a good thing right up until I locked the front in my aforementioned “accident” over at the kiddie track. Shifting is still the Buell Achilles Heel, and I have to say it seems a little worse on the heavier-crankshafted 1200. I mean, the bikes do shift, but with more effort than a Ducati or Japanese bike. Our XB9S got better with a few thousand miles on the odometer, and I also know you won’t be shifting the big 1200 nearly as much on the street as you do on the track, especially on a long, fast one like Road America when you’re trying to catch somebody… it’s all fine until you start trying to squeeze that last little bit of time out of the tube; if you’re not paying attention (and using the clutch a little bit), it’s easy to get hung up between second and third. I hate to say it, but you get used to the way the things shift, really, and the bikes have so many redeeming features… Page 2 By Johnny B Struggling for acceptance, getting it, having it yanked back from time to time… I think I learned more about people, and how things really work, in my year here at MO than in all the other years at other occupations. It was very interesting to go from a big print magazine to MO, with its somewhat checkered past and slightly irreverent editorial policy. When the shiznit hits the rotary oscillator, you find out who your friends are, and I like to think I’ve learned to recognize the signs for future reference. Look out for people, for example, who have tremendous respect for you. Be wary of those who are doing things to you for your own good, who’d like to help you but whose hands are tied.

And on a personal note… Trust people whose actions show respect, and those who actually do things to help you. “No Time for Sergeants” and Catch 22, it turns out, were not farces. If you are starting out in a professional career, study them carefully. When you rock your canoe, it sends ripples out across the lake, ripples that rock other peoples’ canoes. My favorite people in this business are the boat-rockers, all of whom are destined mostly to remain upon the lower rungs. Sad? Maybe not. I’ve had more fun over the years with those people than I ever dreamed possible–riding Hayabusas at Catalunya, R1’s at Valencia (and Catalunya too, come to think), Mille R’s at Homestead, pursuing lactating Croatian strippers in Rimini, hurling BMW’s into rushing mountain streams.

Burns’ Anthology I must’ve been on a couple hundred bike launches and extended jaunts while the Adults were stuck politicking in smoky backrooms, doing whatever they do to preserve the fiefdom. The internet is a revolutionary medium, period. As a low-tech sort of points and carburetors guy myself, it continues to amaze me how many people don’t believe it. Want to see your own work in print? Hell’s bells man, write it up, click on News, then Post Article — and you can be a published author the next day on MO, there to be instantly pilloried and underpaid just like a real magazine writer. Speaking of which, do you think for a minute that the run-of-the-mill motorcycle magazine writer has got anything on the Aerodynamic Head? On The Highwayman? Two words: Reader Feedback. Who wouldn’t pay $11.94 to watch Boehm and Kpaul square off in a battle of wits? Oh well, story of my life, really–big ideas, no execution. I know MO and a hot mug o’ Starbucks will be right there beside me in my new cubicle. I hope to continue to do some Cycle World stuff too. A man’s got to know his limitations, and maybe I am a better writer than I am an Editor. All I want is a slice of motorcycle now and then, not the whole damn pie. Say, what sort of retirement speech is this turning into anyway? I’m not sure if I’m retiring or not, really… but in case I am all I want to express is a huge and humble Thank You to all of you who caused my head to swell over the years by liking my “work” and taking the time to say so. Words can’t express how cool it’s been for a law school dropout seriously considering the US Postal Service to have backed into such a fantastic line of work, Phil Schilling you old dog. So, ah, wish me luck in the ad bizness. I may be back with my tail between my legs in a month or two. Thanks to the internet and MO, when I say I’ll be in touch I mean it. Go back to your homes, and if you make as good citizens as you have Morons, you’ll all do fine. —  

Here is some guy named Craig Jones. He does reasonably proficient wheelies and things of that crazy nature.

Right, old-fashioned. Uh-huh, underpowered, whatever. This is a helluva fun motorcycle engine, and American too.  

This wheel tire/assembly, complete with Buell’s Zero Torsional Load brake, is really really light. Simplify… Anyway, does Buell still market these as “Streetfighters” or what? In the typical Californian canyon, I’d wager, the XB12 should be just as excellent a tool and even better than the XB9–particularly the S model. (Personally, I can’t think of a reason to buy the R over it.) Right, it only revs to 7000 rpm, but there’s probably just as much torque at around 3000 rpm. In the new kink they built following the Carousel at RA, I can’t think of a bike that would be easier to turn in, flick back to the right instantly, and whack the gas back on hard, with less fear of disaster. The whole Buell just sort of rotates within its own axis–it’s that Buell Trilogy thing in action, low yaw and pitch and all that, achieved by keeping things at the ends exceedingly light–and the low-revving beast just goes Bwaaaa… and spins the tire a little without SPINNING the tire, and off you go down the back straight. At the end of the day, the Buell might not be the fastest way around the track if you’re an advanced rider, and the more advanced you are the bigger the gap would grow… but the big But is that if you’re not Mat Mladin or somebody, and have no real ambition of being him, the Buell is just easy to ride and hugely forgiving. Okay, forgiving up to a certain point of stupid, which I managed to exceed. But on the street, where there aren’t any high-speed straights–the tighter the road, the more fits this XB12 will give bigger more powerful bikes. Reliability-wise, I refuse to go there with you people again.

Craig says to keep your weight over the front when you’re burning up rear tires. The quality of these new Buells, beginning with the Blast, is apparently greatly improved. I have noted, maybe along with you, that scattered among the Buell “Reader Feedbacks” which slam Buell reliability every time the topic comes up, is a near-complete, yawning dearth of complaints from people who actually own new ones. At the end of the day it’s just refreshing, after a brat and some beers, to stroll from the lovely Osthoff Resort on the lake to downtown Elkhart Lake and pound some more beers with the ex-college football player types like Tim Osterberg and Dan Grein who built the thing, and who now have excellent raccoon eyes from being in the sun all day in fashion eyewear. Who knew those guys had brains too?

7000 rpm is good for a big-block Corvette. “It’s all about the low-rpm and the midrange, and in those departments it’ll be tough to top a 1203 Buell…” Abe Askenazi’s of Syrian descent by way of Mexico, but assimilating nicely and, in fact, breeding in the Wisconsin wild. More cheese curds anybody? I remember dancing, even, with a third-grade teacher in a tube top, and after that it all became a blur. In today’s corporate climate, the whole Buell attitude is hugely refreshing, and in fact it’s that David v. Goliath attitude that made the XB possible. Nobody told Buell they couldn’t build this bike. If Honda had tried to build an XB9/12, it would’ve wound up being a Pacific Coast with fuel and oil stored in an outrigger or something equally watered-down. And the fact that Buell does it with such an anachronistic engine makes it, to me, that much more interesting, and that much more an accomplishment. No doubt there’s a liquid-cooled Buell down the road, who knows when? In the meantime, I’m not getting any younger, I’ve got no time to wait–and anyway I like the air-cooled Ducati Monsters better than the quattrovalvole ones. Here in the world, it’s all about the low-rpm and the midrange, and in those departments it’ll be tough to top a 1203 Buell with a few choice aftermarket pieces, of which there are about a million. For those who say an air-cooled engine can’t pass emissions, Buell points out this one comes in “substantially below 2004 CARB/Euro II limits without secondary air injection or catalyst.” If I picked a Motorcycle of the Year for the Actual World, I have to tell you I think this one would be it. On the other hand, now’s the time to get a smokin’ deal on an XB9S… Click to Post

[totallymotorbikes]

Church Of MO 2004 XB12S: Cheddarheads Strike Again Whenever he gets a chance, John Burns likes to ramble on about how much he likes Buell motorcycles. The old ones, the new ones, it doesn’t matter. He’s a fan of Erik Buell’s vision and its execution. Case in point? JB’s review below of the 2004 Buell XB12S. A self-proclaimed lover of the XB9S, riding a bigger, better version of the XB-S around Road America left a big smile on his face. Hell, he still speaks fondly of it today. Check out what he has to say about it below, and for more pictures of the bike be sure to click on the photo gallery. 2004 XB12S: Cheddarheads Strike Again By John Burns Apr. 20, 2004 Like S. Langhorne Clemens, who came in with Halley’s Comet and went out with it, I, JB, had my first racetrack ride on a Buell (RR1000, circa 1990) and maybe my last on one the other day at Road America up in the Great White North upon the new XB12–both R and S versions. I may be hanging up the spurs, kids. I’m 43 and no longer on the Up escalator of the ol’ learning curve. I’ve always been a danger to myself, of course, but on Road America’s tight little “Motorplex” track, which is like a paved version of the 80cc track at Lake Elsinore MX Park and where we rode the S version of the bike, I also took out the correspondent for the Canadian version of “USA Today” (that’s got to be some excellent bedtime reading). Johnnyb @Elkhart Lake, demonstrating the distinctive Burnsian style of lawn mowing. That’s right, just as I was thinking to myself, damn these Buells turn good on the brakes… I locked up the front and took the guy out like a bowling ball heading into a tight little right. I also took a handlebar in the chest, and for the first couple of weeks afterward it hurt almost too much to smoke. Hence, I was all set to announce my retirement when the phone rang just now: Erik Buell calling to tell me don’t feel so bad, Johnny, our timers said you were going faster than Don Canet at the time… This is of course, complete and utter crap and I bet Tripp (Tree’-up) Nobles put him up to it–and yet I shall grasp at this straw and believe it forever. A nice new longer stroke takes the XB to 1203cc. Check the fatter exhaust headers… It could be true, if DC was testing low-rev carburetion during one of those laps where I cut the course. In any case, I’ll take it and in a few years will no doubt even believe it. It’ll be excellent when Canet and me are in the retirement home. As you may have noted in these pages, I was already probably the biggest fan in all of motojournalism re: the XB9S (and to a lesser degree the clip-on equipped R model). Mainly what’s going on with the new XB12 is stroking that loveable old lump of an air-cooled twin from 3.125 inches to 3.812 (leaving bores at 3.5 inches), thereby increasing displacement to 1203cc. A set of stronger new knife-and-fork connecting rods carry tough new pistons through those elongated strokes. A new larger-bore (49mm) intake tract with a pair of revised injectors stoke the intenal combustion proceedings, while 1.75-inch exhaust pipes replace the 1.5-inchers of before and expire into a new muffler with an electronically controlled valve like the ones on Japanese literbikes. The end result of all that, Buell says, is 24 percent more torque than the XB9 in a flatter curve, and 103 crankshaft horsepower. It’s kind of like the difference, Erik Buell grins, between a big-block Corvette and a small-block. American engineering. If you see a thing like this getting bigger in your mirrors instead of smaller, it’s a good idea to stop for gas or something… Apart from that, the XB12’s (and the XB9’s as well) get a few detail improvements but nothing particularly major (save the $1K bump in price to $10,995). If you’re wide you’ll appreciate mirrors on two-inch longer stalks. There’s a tougher new final-drive belt, a longer peg on the shifter, lower passenger pegs… er, I think that’s it. Aesthetically, the 12’s sport very cool “translucent amber” wheels which sort of glow in the dark compared to conventional gold anodized ones, and to an easily amused by shiny objects person like myself, the effect against the dark gray fuel-in frame is very nice–particularly set against my favorite thing about these bikes, which is that they are tiny. Well it’s certainly no SV650 or VFR Honda, but there is a certain appeal. I could be biased, maybe I’m just overtaken by a wave of patriotism or nostalgia or something. My wife is from Wisconsin, but I like the place and the people there anyway. New bikes normally get introduced around January / February, which generally means press introes have to happen in Mediterranean or southern hemisphere climes, and I’m not complaining but the whole thing always winds up feeling a bit alien and jet-lagged. Buell does things differently, and so it’s the exceedingly lovely, green Road America in mid-June–right down the road from the East Troy Buell digs–and never mind that one of the fastest road circuits in North America might be the last place you’d want to showcase anything powered by what’s basically a Harley-Davidson Sportster motor. Here, the XB12R goes around a corner. After all the highly regimented Japanese-bike launches I’ve been on, this one was like a family picnic, with Paul James the Buell PR guy showing un-PR-guy speed on the track, and Erik would’ve been out there too if not for a ruptured disc in his back which did not keep him from giggling like a big kid the whole time anyway. Even if the new XB doesn’t have the very latest in motive power, the very advanced things it does have in its favor mean it’s still an absolute blast to ride around the track, and 140 mph on the clock into Canada Corner, at the end of the long, tree-lined backstraight doesn’t seem particularly slow to me in my advanced state of decay. Like the XB9 but 24 percent moreso, the XB12 is sort of sneaky fast: The red zone on the tach is set at 7000 instead of 7500 rpm, and so there aren’t really any aural clues to back up the visual ones of the scenery hurrying past. Whatever. The slightly heavier yet still short-wheelbased, quick-turning little mass-compacted Buell is still one of my favorite bikes to flog whatever the venue. Dunlop D207 tires are passé at this point, even déclassé–and yet when I looked to see what kind of sticky tires we were riding on after a couple of sessions, there they were (special versions for Buell). It’s just such an excellently balanced little machine. (Buell says suspension for XB9 and XB12 is identical.) And just like the XB9, the thing is completely unruffled by bumps, and completely stable come hell or high water–amazingly so for a bike with a 52-inch wheelbase, 21-degree rake and 83mm trail. Must be some sort of highly advanced engineering going on here… Here the XB9S, with actual handlebar and lower footpegs, goes around a corner. Through Road America’s big fast Carousel, the XB could carry as much speed as you could drum up on the way in, feeding in more throttle all the way around and not sliding so much as gravitating outside by the time you get to the exit. There toward the end of the day I was dragging the right footpeg feeler quite a bit–the only thing on the Buell you can drag without crashing on street tires, I think, and only when your knee puck is molten. I was thinking more aggressive brake pads might be a good thing right up until I locked the front in my aforementioned “accident” over at the kiddie track. Shifting is still the Buell Achilles Heel, and I have to say it seems a little worse on the heavier-crankshafted 1200. I mean, the bikes do shift, but with more effort than a Ducati or Japanese bike. Our XB9S got better with a few thousand miles on the odometer, and I also know you won’t be shifting the big 1200 nearly as much on the street as you do on the track, especially on a long, fast one like Road America when you’re trying to catch somebody… it’s all fine until you start trying to squeeze that last little bit of time out of the tube; if you’re not paying attention (and using the clutch a little bit), it’s easy to get hung up between second and third. I hate to say it, but you get used to the way the things shift, really, and the bikes have so many redeeming features… Page 2 By Johnny B Struggling for acceptance, getting it, having it yanked back from time to time… I think I learned more about people, and how things really work, in my year here at MO than in all the other years at other occupations. It was very interesting to go from a big print magazine to MO, with its somewhat checkered past and slightly irreverent editorial policy. When the shiznit hits the rotary oscillator, you find out who your friends are, and I like to think I’ve learned to recognize the signs for future reference. Look out for people, for example, who have tremendous respect for you. Be wary of those who are doing things to you for your own good, who’d like to help you but whose hands are tied. And on a personal note… Trust people whose actions show respect, and those who actually do things to help you. “No Time for Sergeants” and Catch 22, it turns out, were not farces. If you are starting out in a professional career, study them carefully. When you rock your canoe, it sends ripples out across the lake, ripples that rock other peoples’ canoes. My favorite people in this business are the boat-rockers, all of whom are destined mostly to remain upon the lower rungs. Sad? Maybe not. I’ve had more fun over the years with those people than I ever dreamed possible–riding Hayabusas at Catalunya, R1’s at Valencia (and Catalunya too, come to think), Mille R’s at Homestead, pursuing lactating Croatian strippers in Rimini, hurling BMW’s into rushing mountain streams. Burns’ Anthology I must’ve been on a couple hundred bike launches and extended jaunts while the Adults were stuck politicking in smoky backrooms, doing whatever they do to preserve the fiefdom. The internet is a revolutionary medium, period. As a low-tech sort of points and carburetors guy myself, it continues to amaze me how many people don’t believe it. Want to see your own work in print? Hell’s bells man, write it up, click on News, then Post Article — and you can be a published author the next day on MO, there to be instantly pilloried and underpaid just like a real magazine writer. Speaking of which, do you think for a minute that the run-of-the-mill motorcycle magazine writer has got anything on the Aerodynamic Head? On The Highwayman? Two words: Reader Feedback. Who wouldn’t pay $11.94 to watch Boehm and Kpaul square off in a battle of wits? Oh well, story of my life, really–big ideas, no execution. I know MO and a hot mug o’ Starbucks will be right there beside me in my new cubicle. I hope to continue to do some Cycle World stuff too. A man’s got to know his limitations, and maybe I am a better writer than I am an Editor. All I want is a slice of motorcycle now and then, not the whole damn pie. Say, what sort of retirement speech is this turning into anyway? I’m not sure if I’m retiring or not, really… but in case I am all I want to express is a huge and humble Thank You to all of you who caused my head to swell over the years by liking my “work” and taking the time to say so. Words can’t express how cool it’s been for a law school dropout seriously considering the US Postal Service to have backed into such a fantastic line of work, Phil Schilling you old dog. So, ah, wish me luck in the ad bizness. I may be back with my tail between my legs in a month or two. Thanks to the internet and MO, when I say I’ll be in touch I mean it. Go back to your homes, and if you make as good citizens as you have Morons, you’ll all do fine. — Here is some guy named Craig Jones. He does reasonably proficient wheelies and things of that crazy nature. Right, old-fashioned. Uh-huh, underpowered, whatever. This is a helluva fun motorcycle engine, and American too. This wheel tire/assembly, complete with Buell’s Zero Torsional Load brake, is really really light. Simplify… Anyway, does Buell still market these as “Streetfighters” or what? In the typical Californian canyon, I’d wager, the XB12 should be just as excellent a tool and even better than the XB9–particularly the S model. (Personally, I can’t think of a reason to buy the R over it.) Right, it only revs to 7000 rpm, but there’s probably just as much torque at around 3000 rpm. In the new kink they built following the Carousel at RA, I can’t think of a bike that would be easier to turn in, flick back to the right instantly, and whack the gas back on hard, with less fear of disaster. The whole Buell just sort of rotates within its own axis–it’s that Buell Trilogy thing in action, low yaw and pitch and all that, achieved by keeping things at the ends exceedingly light–and the low-revving beast just goes Bwaaaa… and spins the tire a little without SPINNING the tire, and off you go down the back straight. At the end of the day, the Buell might not be the fastest way around the track if you’re an advanced rider, and the more advanced you are the bigger the gap would grow… but the big But is that if you’re not Mat Mladin or somebody, and have no real ambition of being him, the Buell is just easy to ride and hugely forgiving. Okay, forgiving up to a certain point of stupid, which I managed to exceed. But on the street, where there aren’t any high-speed straights–the tighter the road, the more fits this XB12 will give bigger more powerful bikes. Reliability-wise, I refuse to go there with you people again. Craig says to keep your weight over the front when you’re burning up rear tires. The quality of these new Buells, beginning with the Blast, is apparently greatly improved. I have noted, maybe along with you, that scattered among the Buell “Reader Feedbacks” which slam Buell reliability every time the topic comes up, is a near-complete, yawning dearth of complaints from people who actually own new ones. At the end of the day it’s just refreshing, after a brat and some beers, to stroll from the lovely Osthoff Resort on the lake to downtown Elkhart Lake and pound some more beers with the ex-college football player types like Tim Osterberg and Dan Grein who built the thing, and who now have excellent raccoon eyes from being in the sun all day in fashion eyewear. Who knew those guys had brains too? 7000 rpm is good for a big-block Corvette. “It’s all about the low-rpm and the midrange, and in those departments it’ll be tough to top a 1203 Buell…” Abe Askenazi’s of Syrian descent by way of Mexico, but assimilating nicely and, in fact, breeding in the Wisconsin wild. More cheese curds anybody? I remember dancing, even, with a third-grade teacher in a tube top, and after that it all became a blur. In today’s corporate climate, the whole Buell attitude is hugely refreshing, and in fact it’s that David v. Goliath attitude that made the XB possible. Nobody told Buell they couldn’t build this bike. If Honda had tried to build an XB9/12, it would’ve wound up being a Pacific Coast with fuel and oil stored in an outrigger or something equally watered-down. And the fact that Buell does it with such an anachronistic engine makes it, to me, that much more interesting, and that much more an accomplishment. No doubt there’s a liquid-cooled Buell down the road, who knows when? In the meantime, I’m not getting any younger, I’ve got no time to wait–and anyway I like the air-cooled Ducati Monsters better than the quattrovalvole ones. Here in the world, it’s all about the low-rpm and the midrange, and in those departments it’ll be tough to top a 1203 Buell with a few choice aftermarket pieces, of which there are about a million. For those who say an air-cooled engine can’t pass emissions, Buell points out this one comes in “substantially below 2004 CARB/Euro II limits without secondary air injection or catalyst.” If I picked a Motorcycle of the Year for the Actual World, I have to tell you I think this one would be it. On the other hand, now’s the time to get a smokin’ deal on an XB9S… Church Of MO – 2004 XB12S: Cheddarheads Strike Again appeared first on Motorcycle.com.